


The Calendar Game

by apparentlytaboo



Series: The Calendar Game [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Boys Being Idiots, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Clint Barton is a child, Clint Says it's Okay if it's For Charity, Deaf Clint Barton, Devious Bucky Barnes, F/M, Human Disaster Clint Barton, M/M, Mild Language, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Oblivious Avengers, Oblivious Clint Barton, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson is 100 Percent Done, Scott Lang is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 16:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19360858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apparentlytaboo/pseuds/apparentlytaboo
Summary: Clint is Oblivious, Sam Wilson is 100% done, and this charity calendar is the perfect opportunity to bang a few clueless idiot's heads together.





	1. The Pitch

**Author's Note:**

> 100% silliness. All mistakes are my own. I have been working on a charity calendar concept for the Avengers, and the farther I got with the pictures the more this story started growing behind the scenes. Illustrations will be added as a second work in the series; some are NSFW, and I'll be sure to flag 'em!

“What about a charity calendar?”

“No.”

The idea didn’t get so much as thirty seconds of airtime before Bruce shot it down with the kind of brutal efficiency Clint normally admired; except that it was being used to murder his idea, and he happened to think this would generate the money that the local homeless shelters needed.

“It could work” and that was Sam, bless his sky loving soul, throwing his two cents.

“I’m out” and there’s Bruce out the door to the lounge in route to the elevators, no doubt seeking refuge in the sleek lab spaces Tony’d built to give him an escape from just this kind of situation. Clint watched him go with a faint twinge of guilt, sorry to have upset the man, but frankly he hadn’t expected Bruce to take part anyway. Regardless, the Doc didn’t seem mad. More like a parent figure, getting out of doge before the kids got up to something truly stupid in order to keep their plausible deniability.

Accepting the mild collateral damage, Clint conducted a battle assessment, gauging the rest of the team’s reaction. Steve looked predictably apposed, no doubt thinking less of the modern day ‘firemen with puppies’ calendar, and more of the scandalous products shipped to soldiers of the world war era. Bucky’s face was as stone cold as always, but he didn’t look any _more_ murderous than usual, so that’s approval in Clint’s book. Nat is pointedly not-smiling behind her protein shake, and Wanda looks ten shades of amused by the idea.

The true surprise is Tony; Iron Man’s current scowl could give his suit’s glare a run for its money, and of all the players in the room Clint hadn’t considered for a moment that he wouldn’t be 150% on board. Huh.

Thor looked lost, as he usually did when presented with a piece of Midgardian culture he didn’t understand. Steve, for all he didn’t seem to like the idea, none the less picked up on his confusion and came to the rescue. “It’s a printed twelve-month calendar, how we mark the passage of days. Sometimes groups get together and…” and Clint watches as Steve shifts into full Dad mode, and the gears start grinding as he struggles to explain something he assumes is unsavory. Clint takes pity on him for once.

“A charity calendar would mean each of us being assigned a month in the year and taking a photo, which would be printed above the calendar and gives consumers something nice to look at for the month.” The change is visible, lights turning on in Thor’s mind as he catches on and clearly gets himself behind the idea. Bless his heart.

“Yes! A simple matter this would be, I have been told I am quite dashing on the photographic devices.”

“We don’t have twelve people, Clint.” He leaned his chair back on two legs, tipping his head to meet Wanda’s in an upside-down stare. “We can outsource. Finding personnel wouldn’t be a problem, who doesn’t want to be in an Avengers calendar?”

“Other than Bruce.”

“Yeah but it’s not his cup of tea anyway, that’s not enough reason for everyone to shoot it down, Cap.”

***

Sam took advantage of the distraction as Clint devolved into begging Steve for permission like a five-year-old who wanted sweets to pull out his phone and shoot a text to Scott.

Falco- Dude. Clint just proposed a charity calendar. Team’s divided. Bucky hasn’t shot it down.

The message was immediate pegged as ‘read’ so Sam waited out the little dotted lines as Scott typed his response, looking up at a sudden commotion to find Clint sprawled over the floor, cut off mid-whine as Natasha walked past and kicked the chair out from under his precarious position.

“Nat… ow. Why?”

“You’re being a child.”

“I’m always a child.” She didn’t dignify that with a response, just sauntered out of the room with a quipped “I’m in, for the calendar.” Over her shoulder before she was past the doorway and heading out of earshot.

His phone pinged, pulling his attention back down.

TicTac- So… plan B?

Falco- Plan B.

TicTac- I’m in, let me know the terms.

Steve finished his newest line of protestation and before Clint could start in on his next rebuttal Sam cleared his throat for attention. “It’s not a bad idea Cap. And no one’s saying it can’t be a g-rated, safe-for-work calendar.”

“That’s not any fun.”

“You didn’t look like you were interested anyway, Tony.”

“I’m not. But if you’re going through with a charity calendar you ought to at least give the old biddies buying it a good show.” The power of Steve’s consternation was like a weight and Tony’s shoulders were dropping beneath it before his very eyes.

“So… you’re in?” Clint looks hopeful. Steve looks disappointed. Sam can see where this is going from a mile away.

“Absolutely not.” Clint is crushed. Steve is relieved. Tony is looking anywhere but at Cap and Sam is so over the sheer number of idiots on this team refusing to acknowledge the enormous elephants of attraction in the room. Plan B is such a fucking go.

“Alright. So, we control the photos of ourselves that go in. You want candid? Go for it. Safe for work? Cool. Regardless of your choice, I have a wager.” That got the attention he expected. Like the idea or not, most of the Avengers had a competitive streak a mile wide and Sam wasn’t above exploiting it. “We compete to be the most popular month. With the calendars, we send a poll request to text back their favorite month by number.”

“I like it.”

“Clint for the love of god, get off the damn floor. And as for you, Falco-punch, you’re on and you’re doomed. Who in their right mind suggests a popularity contest Tony Stark. Not a smart move bird brain.”

“Tony…”

“Don’t get your star-spangled panties in a twist, I don’t need to be risqué to beat the pants off the rest of you.”

“Oh really.” And there’s Steve’s competitive streak, taking offense to the clear dismissal.

Wanda’s quiet “I accept” is almost lost under the ruckus of Clint trying to free himself from his entanglement with the chair.

The sharp “Deal” coming from thin air behind Sam nearly gives him a heart-attack. Fucking hell, normal people should get hazard pay just for being in the same building as super-spies.

“Ah! Even the lady Natasha enters the contest! Though many here be formidable, try not to mourn the loss too greatly when I claim victory.”

“Scott’s in too.”

“Hey, Bucky, you in?” Clint’s still struggling with his chair and Bucky has clearly taken pity on him, dragging him up by the scruff of his hoodie and righting the chair with his other hand. A grunt that sounds just-this-side of affirmative and Clint’s beaming fit to burst, the idiot. Bucky turns away and storms out immediately thereafter, but not before Sam catches the tell-tale blush that’s been popping up anytime the archer acknowledges his presence.

“Great! Just need two more.”

“I’m on it” Sam’s already sending invites to a few known accomplices.

“Alright nerds. Let the Calendar Games begin!”

tbc


	2. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A TicTac and a Falcon walk into a coffee shop... aka. Scott and Sam get their evil plot together.

“This is perfect.”

“Hopefully. If we have to go to plan C, I’m just locking them in a room together.” Scott’s laugh is unashamedly loud, as always, drowning out the conversations around them and getting a few dirty looks from closer tables at the café.

“Sorry, sorry folks.” He waves ineffectually at a few frowny faces and tries to control his chuckles. “Dude come on; what kind of room could possibly keep them locked up for more than five minutes? Clint doesn’t even need a reason to go exploring air vents, and Bucky’s just going to rip the goddamn door off its hinges.”

The sigh that rips out of Sam looks like it hurts.

“Look man, I know you want them to be happy and watching the morons run around ignoring each other’s interest is killing you inside, but they need to figure it out for themselves.” Sam curls around his latte and breathes in the odor like a lifeline. He looks up again at the sharp kick to the ankle. “Seriously Sam. We got this. It’ll work. Who all did you grab from the outliers?”

“Spider man’s in” he doesn’t get any farther before Scott’s chocking on his drink, coffee spilling over his hand and down his chin. He sets the offending beverage down, coughing and reaching across the table for one of Sam’s napkins.

“What?!”

“Spider man’s in. What do you mean, what?”

“Oh my god Sam, Steve and Tony are like his surrogate fucking parents!”

He winced. “…Yes.”

“You better hope his picture is in a full body suit with like, a shitload of kittens in the background. Or you’re dead.”

“You mean we’re dead.”

“Ohhhhhh no,” the wadded-up napkin hits his hand with a wet ‘smack,’ “There’s no _we_ in this. I am not getting drug into a war with the super-nannies.” Sam waits for the accusatory finger to sink back down to the tabletop before continuing.

“Well, never let it be said that insects aren’t fair-weather friends.”

“Rude, especially after I put up with that awful ring tone of yours.”

“Oh and ‘Falco-Punch!’ every time I text you is better?”

“It’s the theme of the ants from THEM Sam! That movie gave me nightmares for years.”*

“Put the spoon down. I’ll deny your involvement if it makes you happy, okay? You gain any traction with Hope?” The blush gracing his features speaks a hell of a lot more than the single-syllable answer, a mumbled “no” as he hurries to look away and bussies himself stirring imaginary sugar into his coffee.

“She kicked your ass, didn’t she?” The glare he gets back is even better than the blushing.

“No shame in that, man. Nat kicks my ass at least once a week.”

“I still can’t believe she went out with you. Ouch!”

“Don’t be a dick Scott.” His dining partner was making a show of rubbing his shin.

“Fine. Who else we got?”

“Strange is in.” Thank got genuine surprise in return.

“Really?”

“Well… sort of. Wanda and I may have… made something happen. She’s had kind of a thing ever since he made that quip.”

“The one that went something like, ‘a child with powers she never worked for, trying to play with the big boys’?” Sharp nod.

“That’s the one.” Scott’s smirking into his coffee.

“Good. Hope she got his ass for that one.”

“Oh, she did.”

Scott grabbed a refill before digging into the heart of the matter. “How are we looking on the home front?”

Sam leaned back in his seat, took a deep breath. “Pretty good actually. Steve staged a ‘candid’ photo of himself that’s gold. Tony went overboard, obviously, but after some serious needling I got Clint to go on a rampage through the tower. Got a snap of him in the workshop.”

“Oh, that’s good, Steve goes goey every time he catches Tony, quote ‘looking human,’ especially when he’s working.” Sam nods his agreement. “Also, you’ve got Clint working an angle for you, which means he probably thinks that’s your only angle.”

“Hopefully.”

“You’re saying that a lot. Nervous?”

“I’m trying to pull off subterfuge in a house of spies, under the watch of an omnipotent AI, I am very nervous.”

“Yea well… you’ve got gonads, I’ll give you that. The tower creeps me right out.”

“That’s because JARVIS caught you as a TicTac that one time.”

“I resent that name. And no, it’s the time Clint walked into a room and greeted me. As an ant. Sitting on Steve’s shoulder that one time we were trying to prank him. He’s supposed to be the ‘human avenger,’ you know that? None of y’all are normal.”

“Tell me about it, why do you think I hang out with your relatively normal ass?”

“I’m taking that as a compliment. What about the prime targets?”

“Well, Clint did… a thing I wish I hadn’t seen. Bucky won’t let anyone near the photo he took, so that front’s a gamble. I’m just hoping it pays off.”

“You gonna let Clint’s ride?”

“Hell no, Bucky’d end up having an aneurism, and we don’t need him going around killing people for buying a calendar.”

“You don’t think Clint’ll do the same?”

“I’m hoping he goes to confront the subject first. Especially since Bucky’s the one who swapped out the photo of Clint.”

“He did?” And that right there, is one of the biggest reasons he likes Scott. Still gullible, despite everything.

“No Scott. He didn’t. But Hawkeye doesn’t know that. As far as he’ll know, his competition cheated and scrubbed the calendar.” An increasing look of comprehension dawns over his features.

“Forcing a confrontation.”

“Hopefully.”

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The movie referenced here is an old black and white horror film called THEM about giant radioactive ants. The sound-out-of-his-nightmares Scott mentions can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KcVRtAwJMas at the 9:21 mark.


	3. The Print

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calendar hits the markets, and the Avenger's tower. Clue Bats are applied.

Clint’s day starts like any other. Stumbling blindly to where he dearly hopes there will be coffee, nearly dead after waking up at 2 o’clock and heading to the range to try and outrun the nightmarish imagines haunting him, to find Bucky cleaning his favorite rifle at a table in the corner. The silence they shared was companionable, soft clicks as Bucky reassembled his weapon, metal fingers pinging quietly against the component’s surfaces. More and more often, Clint’s nighttime escapades had been shared by a quiet ghost, they rarely spoke to one another during the hours of darkness, but it still felt better to have a companion and Clint had been growing used to him being there.

The coffee’s full, blessedly, and Clint snatches up the pot, taking a steaming gulp despite the familiar burn, and turns to lean against the counter, breathing in the heavenly steam and slowly becoming aware of the world around him. The Kitchen, it turns out, is nowhere near empty and there appears to be an argument surrounding him.

Clint considers lip reading to be a higher echelon of brain function than listening; one that requires more caffeine than he currently has in his system, so he keeps gulping, looking around to get a feel for the room.

Tony looks like he’s giving Steve the biggest dressing down of his life and judging by his face it isn’t being taken well. Tasha’s no where to be seen, neither is Thor. Sam’s smiling over Scott’s shoulder at what looks like a copy of the Calendar and... was that set to be printed today? Huh. In all likelihood, Tony’s obliterating Steve for ‘swapping out his photo,’ because no way would he suspect Clint.

Dragging himself over to the counter containing the less crazed pair of avengers, Clint cradles the coffee pot in one arm and drags a copy of the finished product towards himself. The cover’s tasteful, just the avengers logo from the side of Tony’s tower. Clint starts flipping through one-handed, December forward. Thor’s picture’s pretty much what you’d expect, half armor half bare-chested eye candy and a well-meaning ego you can feel through the paper. Wanda had surprised him and he’s not gonna lie, he knows he should be bitching at her for the leggings, but he’s just proud of the mischievous streak she’s bringing into full bloom.

Cap’s not half bad, dragging a new bag to the chain in the gym, Nat after one of her workouts… more of Scott than he ever wanted to see, honestly. Damn. Clint’s pretty sure the whole ‘catching more flies with honey’ thing applies to other bugs, but there are subtler ways to get at the Wasp, surely.

He lets the page fall to June and then something truly unfortunate happens.

Clint’s fairly certain heart attacks aren’t common in men his age, but his limbs are numb, and the stutter step his heartbeat just did can’t be natural. Losing the coffee would be an unacceptable casualty, he uses the last of his remaining brain function to set it down rather hard on the counter. Slammed is probably a better word. His aids are out so he can’t be sure if the clang stopped the argument behind him, but the pair in front of him jumped so it must have been quite loud.

Steve leans into his field of view, looking past him to see what the fuss is about, and smacks a hand to his face a moment later. Clint catches the tail end of “oh my god, Buck…” before he looks away from Steve and… pointedly anywhere but the open calendar.

He walks out on legs he can barely feel and heads to the range, looking for something to center himself. In hindsight, going somewhere Bucky was likely to be isn’t the best way to avoid the man in question, but in his defense, Clint is sleep deprived, coffeeless and shell-shocked, and he isn’t thinking clearly. He has been thrown off balance and wants to spend time with the one constant he has in his life- the uncomplicated relationship between an archer and his bow.

He’s so out of it he makes it all the way into the weapon’s locker and to his favorite spot on the range before realizing he isn’t alone. Barnes is slaying paper down range with the new throwing knives Nat had brought back from her latest trip, and just as it had every time before, the natural efficiency of his movements catches Clint’s eyes and holds them.

He watches as Barnes lifts a blade, the edge glinting in the light before he sends it effortlessly to its intended target… and for a moment a different scene overlaps with the reality before him; silvery highlights glinting off the metal of his left arm, the glistening water coursing over his body in deep rivulets, wet hair falling messily over his face and Clint… wants. He blinks back to reality with Bucky Barnes in front of him, knives forgotten in favor of walking over to Clint, who has frozen mid-step with his bow dangling from unfeeling fingers.

“Clint? Clint!” It takes three tries for him to shake his head clear and read the words spilling from Bucky’s lips in concern. “Are you okay?” His mouth works wordlessly for a few moments, his poor abused brain cells trying to come up with something coherent to say, but all he finally manages is a weak “The shower Barnes? Really?” Oh…. Brain, no.

As Bucky’s eyebrows make a beeline for his hair, Clint feels every molecule of blood he had left abandon his brain and flood his entire upper body in what is probably the most obvious blush in the history of his sad, pathetic life. This is just too damn much to deal with right now, Clint sighs, pulling a hand up to cover his face and giving himself to the count of ten to get his shit together, say something coherent, and get the fuck away from Barnes before his secret’s well and truly out and he loses the ability to look the other man in the eyes.

He gets to the count of four before his fingers are pried away, far more gently than metal digits should be able to accomplish. He doesn’t want to deal with this, but keeping his eyes closed to avoid a conversation is a bit too childish even for him. “Is this about my calendar photo?” Bucky mouths, and this day just can’t get any worse. He opens his mouth say no, absolutely not, something. Anything.

This is the closest he has ever been to Bucky Barnes outside of a fight, and he can see the tiniest shifts of the other man’s face, the barely-there smile crinkling his eyes, creasing the corner of his mouth. His hand is being cradled in a gentle metal grasp, and the tiny smile is slowly growing over Bucky’s handsome features, toning down the murderous nature of his normal stare.

The time to make a denial passes in silence.

There’s a hand slowly tilting his chin back down from where he’d gotten lost in Bucky’s eyes for a moment, forcing him to focus on his words. “Did you like it?”

“Yes.” The fuck did he just say?! He is going to shoot his own brain for this treachery. One ricochet shot is all that it is going to take, and bam! Hawkeye, taken down by combination of stupidity, embarrassment, and applied technical acumen. He is so busy berating himself he almost misses the words coming out of Bucky’s mouth next. He’d said… what? “What?”

“I said,” he clearly forms the words, the non-verbal variation of speaking to an invalid, “good. I was hoping you would.” He runs that through a couple times and it still doesn’t translate into shit that makes sense for Clint. Unless Bucky is trying to tell him that he staged the photograph specifically to gauge Clint’s own reaction to him practically naked which, well… shit.

“You’re an evil little shit, Barnes” probably isn’t the most romantic start, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, sliding his hand to the back of Clint’s head and pulling him down. Bucky’s smirk on his lips feels a million times better than it looks.

tbc


	4. The Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Clue Bats.

Sam’s phone buzzes and he takes a short break from spectating the civil war taking place in the kitchen to read a text from Natasha. “Mission accomplished,” it reads, followed by a picture of Bucky Barnes planting one on a stunned looking Barton. He nudges Scott, pushing over the phone and watching in amusement as he punches the air in an undignified victory dance. Unfortunately, it also attracts the attention of a miffed Captain America and a ruffled Tony Stark.

“Is this something you find amusing, Scott?” He freezes like something out of a cartoon; hands above his head and one leg raised, eyes as wide as sauce plates.

“To which something, in particular, are you referring, sir?”

“Oh my god,” Tony’s pinching the bridge of his nose, no doubt staving off a headache. “For the last time Scott, stop calling everybody sir and Mr. blank. It is tiring.”

Scott puts both feet on the ground, still looking like a schoolkid sitting at the cool kid table and not quite knowing how the fuck he got there. “I’m talking about Peter, Scott. He’s a kid, who the hell reached out to him about this?”

“No idea.” He states, looking pointedly _everywhere_ but at Sam. The bastard.

“Oh really.” The tag-team laser-eyes are not a thing Sam ever wanted to be on the receiving end of, and it has him breezing straight past denial into defense on pure instinct.

“Look Tony, he’s a legal adult, and Spider Man for crap’s sake. It’s not like...”

“No, he is a kid, damnit. Have you even seen this thing?”

“Yes, and it is very tasteful.”

“Tasteful?!” The vein twitching in his forehead can’t be healthy.

The creaking noise the counter is making beneath Steve’s hands isn’t any better.

Sam’s at a bit of a loss and while he’s still floundering, Scott snatches a handful of his jacket and slowly pulls him towards the exit. “You know what, Mr. Stark? The Cap only agreed to be in this shoot because you implied that he had no chance with you, I mean _against_ you, and the photo yours got swapped for? Every time he catches you in your lab when you’re not looking, he hangs around and takes advantage of your inattention to stare.” They’re at the doorway now, Scott’s grip still pulling him back at a healthy clip. “Anyway, just thought you should know. We gotta go. Have a nice day gents.”

The ding of the elevator closing is music to his ears.

“Did you just save me from the super nannies?”

“Yup.” Smug doesn’t begin to cover the look on his face.

“And you went to plan C.”

“Yea well, the Spider Man pic blinded them to the whole, ‘hey dumbasses you’re in love, get with the program’ thing.” Sam cedes the point, moves on to address the other elephant in the room.

“So, about that self-portrait.”

“What?”

“What do you mean, what? Dude. You know that’s not how you’re supposed to do ‘the Naked Man,’ right?”

Scott scoffs, looking down at his shoes scuffing against the floor. “Yea well… less likelihood of bodily harm from afar.”

“You know that won’t stop her from kicking you ass.” His sigh was long-suffering.

“Yea, but at least I won’t be naked when she does it.” The sound of their laughter follows them down the halls.

***

“What the fuck just happened?” Tony looks over to Steve but he doesn’t seem to be any better off. Worse, if anything. And red as, well. He’s red. Red in the sort of way he only gets when he is profoundly embarrassed. Interesting. “So,” he tries, shrugging off the last vestiges of anger and storing it away for a truly spectacular ass-chewing for Peter. “Staring at me when I’m not aware? There are words for old men who do things like that you know.”

“Tony, not now.”

“Oh no you don’t, we’re talking about this one. Don’t make me get JARVIS to replay footage.” Steve’s body language is completely closed off. It couldn’t scream ‘defensive’ any better if he had had his shield.

“Tony, I never meant to intrude.”

“Oh, but intrude you did.” He has him backed up against the counter and scrunching up on himself the way he is he looks so much smaller. “Oh my god, you actually have been creeping on me in my workshop!”

“Tony, it’s not what you think.”

“Well it better not be. Because it sounds like you’ve ignored every overt gesture, every picture, every ‘oops my shirt rode up,’ every single innuendo, and instead you have a kink for me in jeans and mech grease. Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Language Tony.”

“Oh my god Steve, don’t even.” Steve jumped when he placed his hands on his (frankly massive) biceps.

“Tony…”

“Cap, yes or no answer, do you want this?”

“I don’t…”

“Yes or no answer Steven.”

He shrugged off Tony’s hands, running his own through his short hair. He looked like he was at the end of his rope and looking for a way out. He placed himself firmly in the only route of escape, “Steve.” He stopped, looking down at Tony and, _finally_ , snapped.

“Yes! Alright, the answer is yes.” New shades of red by captain America, ladies and gentlemen.

He has to lean up rather farther than he’d like to admit, but the reward is unarguably worth it. Kissing Steve Rogers is a less chaste affair than Tony would have bet; after the initial surprise he starts melting into him, warm hands covering his hips and keeping him close, as Tony runs his tongue along his bottom lip, leans back to look up into big blue eyes that are finally meeting his with mutual understanding.

He’s glad he can’t see the smile on his own face; if it’s half as sappy and love-sick as Steve’s, he’d never be able to live it down.

***

“Seriously,” Scott remarked, handing his phone back over the cocktail table between them, “how is Natasha always there to take these pictures?”

“Assassin magic” a voice came from just over his shoulder and Scott about leaped out of his seat. He certainly spilled his drink on his leg.

“Oh Jesus, what the… fuck.” He’d caught sight of Hope, standing just beside Natasha.

“Scott.”

“Hope.”

“Get a room. Ow.”

“Don’t be a dick, Sam.” Nat made the vicious elbow to the side look like a seamless part of her sliding into the booth beside him, graceful enough that he couldn’t quite bring himself to be mad about it.

Hope was sliding in next to a flustered Scott, busy wiping the beverage from his leg and setting the rest down before he could do himself any more harm. “Congratulations.”

His confusion was palpable. “Er, for what?”

“The success of your plan. Natasha filled me in on the way other. Those fools might have gone on blindly forever without intervention.”

“I’m pretty sure Barnes was about to snap on his own, but the push certainly helped.”

“Yea well, naked man’s always a bold move, even if it’s just on paper.” Natasha waggled her eyebrows in a clownish move that was nonetheless equal parts hilarious and scary, meeting Scott’s eyes. The look on his face kinda made Sam think he was daydreaming about shrinking in public and making an escape.

“I don’t know,” Hope put in, stirring her drink and looking up to meet the gaze of a startled Scott. “I think I’d have to see it in person to be sure.”

Sam could feel Natasha’s smirk from beside him as Scott spluttered. He looked over to confirm his suspicion. “Had your own angle, huh?”

One beautifully sculpted brow raised at his accusation. “Always.” He laughs, reaching over to squeeze her hand and enjoy the small, private smile she immediately hides behind her glass. He may never get to know much more about Natasha; she’s too private, far too used to hiding even the smallest piece of herself. But she makes an effort, lets him see the small things; a glimpse of a smile, small kindnesses, tiny honest moments. Sitting here next to her, next to their friends, he thinks that’s more than enough.

the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a couple tiny one shots running around the wings that I might tack on as bonus chapters later, (such as the Scarlet Witch and Falcon vs. Steven Strange), but for now, that's all folks! Thank you for reading!!! Advice and criticisms always appreciated.


End file.
